11. Jenn Kirby, "Dichotomies of Lockdown"
I was sort of skeptical about Operavision's claim that this was seven vignettes (that's one minute per vignette), which is kind of dumb when you think about it or even when you don't: it's extremely easily verifiable, and why would they lie about that anyway? Well, Kirby actually pulls this off pretty darn well, I'd say. We have a man and a woman, presumably a couple (although actually, they aren't necessarily the same people every time--well, it's not very relevant), in an institutional-looking room with a table in the middle, presumably meant to evoke prison. And they're doing various quarantine things: helping with disinfectants, social distancing, being annoyed at people not taking precautions, Zooming (how inevitable was that?), and so on. Nothing groundbreaking, but still enjoyable, and, again, very impressive to actually cram so many scenes into such a short thing.
12. Conor Linehan, "The Patient Woman"
This one is about a woman visiting a doctor. It's filmed in black and white in a style trying--not altogether successfully, I have to say--to mimic classic Hollywood. I do like it in theory; in practice, it's just okay. But beyond that, I'm not really sure what to say. The Operavision description calls it a "tragicomedy," which I think might be suggesting more than it can actually deliver. It's apparently about her getting bad news, and possibly dying, but it's very abstruse. The doctor babbles in Latin. I don't know; in spite of its lofty ambitions, I didn't really find this interesting.
13. Conor Mitchell, "A Message for Marty;" or, "The Ring"
So this Marty douchebag broke up with his girlfriend Jackie via text message, and her (unnamed) sister is pissed about this and sends him an angry video message of her own. It seems like an appealing thing, as does the Operavision blurb: "a comic short which shows what happens when Belfast girls lose their temper in a very, very public way!" Yeah, sure, gimme some of that. And yet, somehow, I expected more. It doesn't quite live up to its premise in a way I can't quite define. Also, the music is kind of generic; perhaps a Berg-esque atonal sound would have been appropriate for the subject matter. I dunno. Anyway, blah.
14. Gráinne Mulvey, "La Corbière"
Allegedly, this is about the wreck of a ship carrying Nazi soldiers and French prostitutes, though it would probably be hard to figure that out if you didn't know. Well, the Nazis are absent from the piece (as indeed nazis should be absent from the world); instead, we just have two women talking about how the situation is bad, over disconnected images of them in flashing lights and fog. Well, again, it's okay, but when you claim that i "highlights the dehumanizing power of fear--in particular fear of the Other," I think you're giving it somewhat more credit than it really deserves.
15. Emma O'Halloran, "The Wait"
A woman recounts seeing a horse drown in a flood, and the water is still rising. Um. That's it. I suppose you can't say this isn't exactly what it wants to be, but...I dunno, man. What's the punchine? "But who is the horse and who is the watcher?" asks the Operavision page. "And will we be next?" That's the kind of pretension that this thing can't support. Again, not very impressed.
16. Hannah Peel, "Close"
Two women try to go on a date while observing social distancing protocols, after having previously only communicated online (I feel like when you're belting out opera at one another, six feet probably isn't adequate, but okay). Perhaps I just tend to enjoy these things when they're more straightforward, but I thought this was just ducky. Very sweet, with an optimistic conclusion.
17. Karen Power, "TOUCH"
A man and a woman, in boxes on separate sides of the screen, his yellow-tinted, hers green. Video footage in the background. They "sing," or perhaps rather "wordlessly moan" over minimalistic music and environmental sounds. We get two words: "listen" and "touch." Fuck me, man. I don't like to be excessively vehement about these judgments, given that these are free to watch and all, but this is just worthless. Let's move on.
18. Evangelia Rigaki, "The Gift"
An old man in hospice and his estranged daughter, who I guess then achieve some kind of reconciliation. Man, I just said that I like those of these are that are straightforward, and this is certainly that, but it nonetheless left me cold. I feel it does not succeed in really presenting characters or saying anything meaningful about the situation. As I am sometimes known to say, blah.
19. Benedict Schlepper-Connolly, "Dust"
Well, this is at least a bit more like it. A woman sings an Irish-folk-ballad-styled thing about extinction. She "has not seen" various animals and plants, presumably because they are no more, although that use of the present perfect tense does suggest an underlying optimism. Meanwhile, the action is very unclear, as two dudes in hazmat suits stand by and help her change. Honestly, it does get a bit monotonous before it ends, but it's still fairly credible.
20. Jennifer Walshe, "Libris Solar"
So, can we end the proceedings on a high note? Well...not really, no. Not that this is a notably low point, but nor does it impress. A scientist sings about this "Libris Solar," who apparently, and probably only figuratively, is some sort of hybrid human-something creation. There's video footage of the guy, along with various cellular images. A voice babbles in the background. Look, what do you want to me to say? All I have is: WHATEVER.
Well, so what do we think about this project as a whole? Well, we think it's very much like a slightly weaker #OperaHarmony. It probably doesn't have notably more or worse low points than that, but the high points are fewer and not as high. The best of these COVID anthologies remains Tales from a Safe Distance.
No comments:
Post a Comment